Rating: NNNNN
Weeks of sexual tension, thick enough so you could have fried it for supper, had finally landed. The sense that the moment to “pounce” had arrived was enveloping me. You know the moment – the moment when you’re absolutely certain that a passionate kiss will be eagerly and completely accepted, but….>
“But what,” whispers that little devil in your ear. “But… but… but should you fuck your roommate?”
Julia moved in quite suddenly last summer when another roommate suddenly needed to leave. Anyone who has shared a house with a bunch of people knows that someone is always going away for work or moving in with a new girlfriend or boyfriend.
She seemed a good match (not immediately identifiably psycho), and we were a little desperate. She had a job, didn’t smoke and agreed that it was important to keep all common areas clean. She had a boyfriend who had his own place, so he wouldn’t be over all that much and she’d be spending a lot of time at his place.
Things were great for the first month, but then she broke up with the boyfriend and a seeming flood of sexual energy was suddenly unleashed on the world. Call the Red Cross.
The flirtatious remarks weren’t innocent. They were very specific and direct. This was a new Julia. The very obvious sounds of masturbation floating though the too-thin walls were also very specific for my too horny ears. Then, one night, she floated into my swelteringly hot room on a wave of red wine and we fucked and fucked and fucked.
Did I have a momentary debate before I pounced? Absolutely. Did I mention that I’m 40 and Julia is 20? Oh yes. Did I also mention that I have an eight-year-old daughter who lives with me half the time? Uh-huh.
Did any of this stop me? Absolutely not. What is a guy to do when a beautiful, extremely horny young woman arrives in his bed with very clear intentions? I struggled for a millisecond and, knowing full well that this was probably going to be a complete disaster, I pounced.
We fucked everywhere. My room, her room, the couch in the common room, the floor of the bathroom, the floor of the kitchen, the deck…. She’d come home for quick lunch break and I’d go down on her. She liked it really hard (I slapped her ass so hard I left a big, beautiful purple bruise), and she liked it soft and sweet.
We kissed and quivered and laughed at the possibility of being caught by our inexplicably oblivious third roommate. There are plenty of women out there who like sex and have orgasms and all that, but Julia was that rare woman who loves cock. My cock. I was more than a little intoxicated, and I’m getting a little aroused just writing this. Still.
But now what were we going to do? There’s a simple rule I follow whenever I start up with someone. If you sleep with somebody once, it’s great. If you sleep with somebody twice, it’s fantastic. If you sleep with somebody three times, you’re in a relationship and you need to name it.
This naming process is challenging and usually revolves around exclusivity issues. I said to Julia that I wasn’t sure what was going to happen but I was sure that I didn’t want to share her. Maybe this was just me being the safer, older, sensible guy maybe it was just possessive jealousy on my part. All I knew was that the thought of her doing with other guys what she did with me drove me insane.
She appreciated my clarity and enjoyed the intensity of my attraction. We were falling for each other, and I know what you’re thinking. Doomed, yes, doomed, given all our complications.
It started with tall, skinny Stan. She’d been hanging out with him, and we’d laughed about his inarticulate attraction for her and his inability to pounce. Guys her age just couldn’t give her what she wanted, right?
But Julia decided to be with him. I couldn’t understand it, especially after the ridicule we’d shared at his expense. It was a complete disaster. I was crushed but would have been all right except for the fact that we were roommates, so I knew when she was out or when he’d come over. This lasted about a week (they only had sex once, at his place), and when it blew up, there she was again in the kitchen giving me that look. You know the look I mean. The one that burns right through you – that laser look of specific intentions.
A period of tenderness and tension followed. We’d read plays together and talk and hold each other, but no sex, which was torture, but OK, too, somehow. Finally, we had to decide. Were we going to be together or not? I said I could try it but couldn’t yet be out in the open about it while my daughter was there. I couldn’t run the risk of my child getting emotionally attached to someone who had a history of such immediately palpable inconsistency.
Julia said that if she was with someone it could never be a secret. If she came home from work and wanted to throw her arms around me and kiss me, she couldn’t hide that.
The impasse. We couldn’t find a way around this, so we were done. Reality time, I guess, but now what? I said I wouldn’t bring home any guests for a while and stumbled back to my room.
I hoped this would be reciprocated, like respectful roommates would, like washing the bathtub after you were done. It wasn’t.
Within a week, Patrick was hanging around, and within two weeks I was treated one night to the sounds of them having very vigorous sex. That sucked and sucked large. I felt ill. I didn’t want to go home when I was out. So do I move out or does she?
I volunteered, and started looking for another place for my daughter and me to live – not an easy task, considering the scarcity of suitable affordable housing out there. I couldn’t think of another solution. Julia did rent a room and was entitled to do whatever she wanted to inside that room. It wasn’t a common area – it was private, sort of.
One night I stayed at a friend’s place, and when I got home in the morning Julia assumed, incorrectly, that I’d been having sex with someone. I didn’t set her straight. She was suddenly edgier than usual. On the Thursday of that week she picked up the new NOW, went to see an apartment on Saturday and moved out the following Monday. Bang – gone.
I run into her every so often, and we smile at each other now. Is there still sexual tension between us? Have I adopted a “don’t fuck your roommate especially if she’s half your age” policy? Would I do it all again? What would you do?
love&sex@nowtoronto.com
